Some fifty plus years ago, when I was a little girl, my mother made my brother a butterfly net out of a bamboo garden cane, a hoop of wire and an old net curtain. I don’t know how often he used it, but I suspect it wasn’t that often.
Whether he tired of it in the first few weeks, or whether it was when it came out of the shed on the second summer and he was off on his bike in the park with his mates, somehow, I managed to inherit it. Continue reading “small blues”
For me, some flowers and plants are inextricably linked to books I have read. I can’t see a periwinkle flower like the one above without its other name – Joy-of-the-ground – springing to mind alongside images of Maria Merryweather and her pony at Moonacre Manor in Elizabeth Goudge’s delightful story The Little White Horse.
Salmon pink geraniums also take me to the same story, but they don’t fit this post’s colour theme, and, really, it’s colours not books that I’m thinking about today. Continue reading “blue horizons”
The rain finally came at the weekend. To be honest, since it had waited so long, it might have stayed away for another 24 hours and let the villagers have their fiesta fun all through Saturday night.
I suppose I could witter on about words like ‘petrichor‘, but instead I’ll just post this picture of a morning glory that I took while I was down in southern Spain earlier this month. It’s certainly a lot bluer than the sky at the moment.